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Mute In The Night <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Kylie Rogers<\/strong> is a poet and novelist currently residing in Sheffield. Her writing is concerned with memory, dwelling and occasionally all things bread and dough related, since she works part-time as a baker.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Mute In The Night Most nights I dream of trains. Platforms punctuate journeys with fleeting glances and slow motion moments; some stop \u2013 others just slow as they pass. In the waiting room, we bide our time, hoard it up so we\u2019re rich with minutes, seconds to spare when the doors shut and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4312","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4312","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4312"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4312\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4376,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4312\/revisions\/4376"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4312"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4312"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4312"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n<\/strong>
\nMost nights I dream of trains. Platforms
\npunctuate journeys with fleeting glances
\nand slow motion moments; some stop \u2013
\nothers just slow as they pass.
\nIn the waiting room, we bide our time,
\nhoard it up so we\u2019re rich with minutes,
\nseconds to spare when the doors shut
\nand the wheels start to turn. The carriages,
\ncoupled on Sundays, slog out the last ride home
\npast vacant houses laid out beside the tracks,
\nunblinking and mute in the night. They shake awake
\nat 5am on weekdays: the wild grass shudders
\nas the coaches pass by, disgruntled and sleepy,
\nlost in a dream, or reality. In the dilapidation of years,
\nwe forgot to stamp and date our thoughts
\nlike the orange tickets that bookmark our beds.
\nEvery night I\u2019m sure I lose a second when I blink.
\nMost nights I dream of trains.<\/p>\n